Ice Cold Kill

by Jake Striker

  Then I would hit the main house.

  My drone scan was complete.

  I brought the Wasp back to my position. I landed it and stowed it.

  Next I had to get inside the estate. My best option was to reach the front gate and crack it.

  I carried explosives that would do the job.

  It would be a loud and crude invasion. But there was no time for stealth.

  Success depended on speed and sheer aggression.

  I drew a deep breath and primed myself to kick off running. But I never got the chance.

  There was motion to my left.

  A pair of man-shapes appeared in the swirling fog. They trod in my direction.

  I slid backward into the treeline and gained deeper cover. I braced the Uzi for action.

  The approaching men were armed with AKs. They were Triad sentries on patrol.

  They were whispering to each other as they moved.

  I stayed immobile at the base of a fir. I let shadows and foliage conceal me.

  The men trudged straight past my position. They pressed onward without looking back.

  I kept watching.

  The men took a dozen more paces. They veered toward the estate's wall.

  One guard pulled a large security key.

  I peered closer.

  The troops reached a metal access door. It was painted and finished to blend into the wall.

  That explained why I had missed it on my recon.

  No matter. I saw my chance.

  I snapped the Uzi to my shoulder and took aim. I paused and let the keyman unlock the door.

  Now!

  I slapped the Uzi's trigger.

  Scimitar bullets struck both men. They lost their AKs and toppled into stiff heaps.

  Two guards down. How many left?

  How long before new enemies appeared?

  There was zero time to waste. I rushed forward and leaped over the dead men.

  Next I heaved the door open and thrust inside the estate.

  I dropped into a fighting crouch and gripped the Uzi. I scanned for more troops and found none.

  There was no sign my intrusion had been detected. So far.

  I pulled a whistle and blew it three times. The whistle was ultrasonic and only canines could hear it.

  No guard dogs charged or barked.

  I stowed the whistle and stayed in a crouch. I probed ahead.

  Fog rolled across the grounds.

  It swirled around the mansion's Gothic parapets.

  I sprang Nightstalker infrared goggles. I slipped the goggles over my eyes and switched them on.

  The darkness turned into a red-lit twilight. Coiling fog looked like weightless flowing blood.

  I swept with the Nightstalkers. I let my combat senses test the dark.

  There was still no active opposition. Not yet.

  It was time to move. Again.

  I pushed up and bounded onward. I reached a hemlock and slid behind hanging foliage.

  The opioid lab was thirty yards ahead.

  I checked left and right. All clear.

  I shoved off and gained the Quonset's door.

  I aimed the Uzi with its suppressor. Then I triggered a short burst that shattered the lock.

  I kicked the door open and probed for danger. No one tried to block me and no alarms shrieked.

  I pressed inside the lab.

  There was sudden motion. A skinny figure charged my left flank.

  He raised a Tokarev autopistol with both hands. But he never got the chance to aim or fire.

  I slammed the Uzi's metal butt into my attacker's ribs. He lost the pistol and staggered backward.

  I lifted the Uzi and hit its trigger.

  A Scimitar bullet drilled the man's forehead.

  Explosive impact hurled him onto the vinyl floor.

  He skidded and left a crimson streak. His heels drummed and he went still.

  I studied the fallen man.

  I noted his white coat. Also his safety goggles and rubber shoes.

  I peered closer and recognized the man's face.

  According to intel his name was Jeremiah Nix. He had been a pharmacist.

  He had lost his license for selling black-market painkillers. He had made a brand-new career cooking opioids for Colonel Toom.

  Now he was dead and he could not brew any more poison.

  I reloaded the Uzi.

  There was another flash of motion. Someone else was moving through the lab.

  I pivoted and swung the Uzi toward my danger. I tightened my trigger finger.

  Another white-coated fiend lurched into view. He saw the Uzi and reeled backward.

  I recognized his face.

  He was Saul Katz and he was another pharmacist. Like Nix he cooked opioids for Colonel Toom.

  He had ditched a career in cancer research to make himself rich. Filthy rich.

  He dodged around workbenches and chemical equipment. He scuttled behind a drum marked TOXIC WASTE.

  He called out in a hoarse voice. "Tell me what you want."

  "Your head."

  "Damn it! You know what I mean. Name your price, to walk away."

  I leveled the Uzi and loosed a short precision burst. Scimitars punctured the drum in a Z-shape.

  Green slime jetted out and sprayed Katz from chest to scalp. He gave a high-pitched scream and lurched forward.

  Toxic gel clung to his face in glistening blobs. His skin turned black and started smoking.

  His flesh was melting off the bone.

  My nostrils flared at a stink of burning meat.

  Katz toppled onto the floor. He squirmed and gave another agonized screech.

  His legs kicked and his arms twitched.

  I triggered the Uzi.

  A Scimitar drilled the man's skull. That ended his suffering.

  It was more than he deserved.

  I turned and searched the lab for more technicians. I found none.

  I spotted another chemical drum. It was marked FLAMMABLE.

  A plan clicked in my head. I had a chance to raze the lab and burn its gear to ash.

  I opened a MOLLE pouch and pulled a SLAM. That meant Selectable Lightweight Attack Munition.

  The SLAM held a dozen ounces of RDX. It was a powerful explosive.

  It was hell on earth.

  I placed the SLAM behind the drum. I armed it for remote detonation.

  The bomb was tamper-proof. It would explode instantly if anyone tried to move it or disarm it.

  All right.

  I had to leave the Quonset. I had a schedule to keep.

  I gained the open doorway and probed for danger. My Nightstalkers revealed no lurking guards.

  I bolted from the Quonset and covered fifty paces. Drifting fog and deep shadows helped conceal my profile.

  I reached my goal and dropped into a crouch by a hemlock. I was inside the treeline and that gave me decent camouflage.

  I listened. There was a scuffle of footsteps.

  I peered through my Nightstalkers.

  A shape approached through the swirling fog. It was a lone soldier.

  He was heading straight toward me. But he had not seen me.

  Not yet.

  Instead he appeared to be following a scheduled patrol route.

  I faced a choice.

  I could find deeper cover and let the guard miss me in the dark. Or I could take aim with the Uzi and drop him in his tracks.

  I chose to engage and shave the enemy team by one more.

  I let my target edge closer. I braced the Uzi against my shoulder.

  Now!

  I hit the Uzi's trigger and loosed a short salvo.

  Scimitars cored the sentry. He gasped and crumpled into a flaccid heap.

  Another guard emerged. He saw his fallen comrade and grimaced in shock.

  He recovered fast and raised his AK. Too late.

  Scimitars struck his chest. He staggered and dropped his rifle.

  His mouth gaped as if he was
about to shriek. But he never got the chance.

  Another Scimitar drilled his forehead. He crashed facedown and did not move again.

  I shifted toward the dead guards and kneeled to search them. I stripped a two-way radio from one man's belt.

  The radio might prove useful.

  I could monitor enemy chatter.

  I stowed the radio and pulled a Hornet antipersonnel mine. It was the size and shape of a soda can.

  I palmed my Tanto knife and dug a hole beside the felled men. I planted the mine in the hole and buried it with dead leaves.

  Like my SLAM the Hornet was armed for remote detonation. It would explode on command.

  I sheathed my Tanto and shoved off through the trees.

  I reached a low stone retaining wall that provided hard cover. I crouched at the wall and scanned the house.

  My primary targets were inside and I needed to flush them out. But how?

  I had to start a commotion. I had to rip the night apart.

  I raised the captured radio and pressed its XMIT button.

  "All guards," I snapped. "We've got an intruder in the Quonset. Respond at once!"

  I peered toward the opioid lab.

  There was sudden motion and six guards burst into view. They rushed toward the Quonset with guns braced.

  They used rifle-lights to probe the structure. Moments later they reached its open door.

  I activated my wrist-mounted remote detonator. I waited and watched.

  Three troops shoved inside the Quonset. Their three comrades loitered outside.

  I hunched low and made a silent countdown.

  Now!

  I keyed my detonator to blow the hidden SLAM.

  A white-hot flash pierced the night and thunder convulsed. A churning fireball thrust from the Quonset's ruptured roof.

  Shockwaves tossed smoking debris overhead. Flames gushed against the pitch-black sky.

  The shattered Quonset glowed red hot. A Hadean glare.

  Chemicals and burning opioids fed the inferno.

  A Triad soldier stumbled as tongues of fire seared him. He screamed and toppled into a smoldering heap.

  Superheated plasma hit another Triad.

  He shriveled like an ant under a magnifying glass. A shockwave struck and he was blown away in a puff of soot.

  I stayed low and surveyed the devastation.

  It was hell on earth. As intended.

  Heatwaves cut through the night and baked my face. Acrid fumes flared my nostrils and I grimaced.

  White stars popped and danced before my eyes. I blinked hard to clear my blurred vision.

  The time for stealth was certainly over.

  I lowered my Uzi on its sling and pulled my prime weapon. It was an Ultimax Avenger light machine gun.

  It boasted a 12.5-inch hammer-forged barrel. It mounted an ACOG combat scope.

  Its 100-round drum was loaded with Power Strike ammo.

  The Avenger also mounted a Scorpion grenade launcher.

  It was a lethal combat package. Yeah.

  A devastating tactical setup.

  I raised the weapon and aimed through its ACOG. I triggered a blazing Power Strike burst at the house.

  My bullets shattered oblong windows and punched deep inside.

  I spotted a large circular window. It was located on the mansion's second floor.

  It made an excellent target for my Scorpion launcher. I aimed the launcher and drew its trigger.

  An HE can hurtled in. It smashed through plate glass and exploded inside the house.

  There was a crack of muffled thunder. Smoke and flame churned.

  Hot shockwaves ripped the sun window off its mount. It spun through the night like a giant Frisbee.

  I reloaded the Scorpion and triggered another HE can. It punched through a downstairs window and blew in roiling fire.

  There was brand-new motion near my Hornet mine.

  I peered through the Nightstalkers.

  Three snarling troops were advancing with guns raised. They were closing on my position.

  I had to stop them. Fast.

  I reached for my remote detonator and keyed the Hornet.

  Downrange the mine sprang into the air. It broke apart to unleash a swarm of buzzing shrapnel.

  All three men took deadly hits. They reeled and staggered.

  They toppled like scarecrows cut from their poles.

  The Hornet had performed as intended. It had done its ugly work.

  I was impassive. There was no surge of triumph.

  It was the stone-cold business of war. It was kill or be killed.

  There was brand-new motion. The mansion's front door flung open and three gunners emerged.

  Their leader shouted orders and pointed in my direction. Doubtless he had seen my muzzle flash.

  His troops raced forward with weapons raised.

  They would flank me in a minute. But they did not have a minute.

  I aimed through my ACOG scope and triggered the Avenger.

  Power Strike bullets drilled all three troops. They toppled like shattered mannequins.

  I loosed another HE grenade. The mansion's front entryway exploded in smoking flame.

  The heavy door blew inward and split off its hinges. Twisted debris skittered across the foyer's marble floor.

  I loaded another HE can. I let it fly through the gaping portal.

  Another rocking blast followed and more flames gushed.

  I stayed crouched behind the stone wall. I reloaded my launcher.

  There was a moment of eerie stillness. Then a skinny figure leaped through the broken doorway.

  He bolted into the courtyard.

  It was Lu Kam. Absolutely.

  I recognized his typical thug features. His black snake eyes and thin cruel mouth.

  Kam gained a waiting luxury sedan. It was a silver-painted Lincoln MKZ.

  He thrust inside the sedan and fired its engine. He gripped its wheel with bone-white knuckles.

  He stomped his accelerator and powered out.

  The sedan's tires kicked up gravel. They thumped over a fallen Triad gunner.

  Kam steered toward the mansion's open main gate. But to reach the gate he had to run a gauntlet.

  He had to drive through my field of fire. I took aim and hit the Scorpion's trigger.

  An HE bomb hurtled in at 800 feet per-second. It clipped the MKZ's front fender and blew on impact.

  A fiery blast shattered the sedan's engine. Its hood flung open on a cushion of flame.

  Both front tires blew into flapping tatters.

  Kam screamed and cursed. He lurched and lost control.

  The MKZ slewed in a pall of sparks and smacked a hemlock. It bounced and spun 360.

  Its ruined engine groaned and died.

  I reloaded the Scorpion and kept my sights on the battered car.

  Its driver door burst open. Kam tumbled out and fell onto both knees.

  He shoved upright on rubber legs.

  He drew a pistol and pointed it in my direction. Too late.

  I had the Avenger on target and I hit its trigger.

  Power Strikes struck Kam's sternum. He jerked and jittered.

  He found the strength to aim his pistol. Again it was too late.

  I had already triggered another Scorpion grenade.

  It was like swatting a fly with a sledgehammer. But I did not care.

  The explosion engulfed Kam and he was vaporized in a heartbeat.

  I ducked beneath a downpour of ravaged meat.

  A bloody leg. An arm and a twitching hand.

  A shredded torso.

  Kam's severed head flew across my line of vision. It bounced and rolled like a gory soccer ball.

  Its mouth gaped and its eyes bulged.

  I drew a deep breath. Scratch one major target.

  Where was Vincent Fong?

  He might be hiding inside the house. Or he might have already slipped away.

  It hardly mattered now.

&nb
sp; I was out of time. I had to bail out before reinforcements arrived and cut me off.

  The echoes of combat subsided. Gunsmoke hung in the air.

  The silence was broken by a roaring auto engine. Another silver MKZ shot into view.

  I glimpsed Vincent Fong at its wheel. The bastard was on the move and gunning for a quick getaway.

  I aimed the Avenger. But I was too slow.

  The car veered around the mansion and vanished from sight. Doubtless Fong was heading for the open front gate.

  He would find the coastal road beyond and keep going.

  I spat a curse and saw another chance. I leaped up and bolted toward the mansion's courtyard.

  I reached a parked MKZ and grabbed its driver door handle.

  The door was locked. Of course.

  I spat another curse.

  I had counted on luck to see me through. But luck had betrayed me.

  I had gambled and lost.

  A major fumble. Yeah.

  A hard fail.

  I should have withdrawn as quickly as possible. Instead I had pushed deeper into the hellground.

  Gunfire exploded uprange.

  Several bullets zoomed past my ears. They drilled the MKZ and blew out its windshield.

  Other slugs gouged its metalwork and shattered its headlights.

  I kneeled behind the car and triggered the Avenger over its hood. I used short bursts to conserve ammo.

  The enemy gunfire faltered. The hostile troops were injured or dead.

  That gave me a chance to press on.

  I thrust from my crouch and surged toward the house. I kept the Avenger up and ready for action.

  I had to keep moving. In motion there was hope of success.

  There was hope of survival.

  I reached the mansion's south corner and ducked around it. I needed to back out of the estate and gain my waiting Jeep.

  I gripped the Avenger and checked my flanks. How many troops against me?

  I could not be sure. But they were regrouping and craving bloody revenge.

  That was guaranteed.

  I was in danger of being swarmed and cut to shreds.

  I grimaced. The mission was damn-near FUBAR.

  There was no time for self-blame. Instead there was only time for action.

  I slid from the house and sprinted toward nearby trees. I was in midstride when a sound hit my ears.

  I swung toward a flash of motion.

  A Porsche Panamera was speeding toward me. The driver was trying to mow me down.

  I leveled the Avenger and took aim.

  I could not falter. Hesitation meant death.

  I stroked off a blazing salvo.